


space in my bed (you are)

by orphan_account



Series: Modern AU; Cecil/Carlos [3]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, F/M, Gen, M/M, Mild Gore, wow i spelled khoshek wrong go me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 23:51:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happens on Tuesday, when the previous day’s cancellation takes a little too long to recover. </p><p>Zombie (apocalypse?)! AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	space in my bed (you are)

.

Carlos wakes up on Tuesday in his lab, wiping spit off his data and smacking his lips until they start feeling less numb. His lamp flickers, probably shorting out due to over use. He winces, hoping Night Vale might foot the bill for this one.

And by foot he means pay in cash, not dismembered human feet. Carlos shudders, and tries to wipe the memory from his brain.

That was the first clue.

.

Walking out of the laboratory, Carlos notices the eerie silence echoing through the halls. It isn’t the ominous, barely there static that usually starts his days, but the complete lack of noise, _anywhere_.

A shudder races through his spine, tripping and tumbling until his whole body quivers with anticipation of something he doesn’t even know. The cheerful chirp of his hybrid Coupe is too loud in the deserted parking lot, and Carlos settles inside it uneasily.

Nothing goes wrong for the first four minutes, then his watch beeps and something huge and heavy slams against the side of his car.

It’s Larry Leroy and he looks about seven seconds from falling apart, literally.

Carlos swallows a shriek (sob, bird-like caw, he doesn’t even _know_ ) and exits his car. Looking down, Larry’s dismembered arm twitches half-heartedly, then sort of lies there, like, well, like a dismembered body part should. 

“Oh God,” he says, as Larry gets up, walks with imaginary shackles around his ankles, and moans. A guttural moan rivaling Khoshek’s rips from his vocal cords. What Larry doesn’t have in speed, he more than makes up for it in sheer terror. Carlos is frozen to the spot.

Then, suddenly, Cecil swoops in, actually _swoops in_ like a hawk and slices Leroy’s head from his neck with a sickly _thwack_. He sheaths the tacky looking scythe and smiles beatifically, holding out Larry’s head by his hair.

A present, an offering, or maybe the beef in the cafeteria was raw and uncooked and possibly diseased. Cecil flicks his wrist, Larry Leroy landing on someone else’s car, and wipes the congealed blood on his furry pants.

His wrist is solid and warm and Carlos sort of clings to it as they walk through the town, Coupe forgotten.

.

“Let me explain,” Cecil explains, not waiting for Carlos to sputter indignantly about what the hell is going on here. Cecil knows, and his calm demeanor is a life raft Carlos refuses to let go of.

“Please do,” he croaks out, waiting.

“So every four years, here in Night Vale, we have an apocalypse,”

Of course.

“It’s never the same thing twice, you know. Keeps us on our toes,”

“And this year it’s..,”

“Zombies, Carlos,”

“Alright,”

It’s better to pretend he understands, fake it until he makes it out alive sort of deal. But of course his brain won’t take ignorance, not even fake-survival ignorance, and ends up taking over his mouth and larynx.

“Why four years?” he asks, and immediately wants to slap himself.

Cecil only smiles, that soft smile that glows in moonshine. He reaches over, wraps his fingers over Carlos’ knuckles and strokes with calloused hands. Blood and dirt have collected in spots under his nails.

“The gods demand a sacrifice. Children in the library weren’t enough, so citizens of our wonderful town have to sacrifice one of their own to survive,”

 Cecil’s grip is too strong. Carlos stops breathing, starts thinking, analyzing and evaluating and thinks his chances of surviving are completely and utterly _gone._

“Me, then?” His voice is small, too small.

Cecil cocks a brow, squints, twitches, and then laughs so hard he falls of the semi-sentient armchair.

“W-what?” Cecil looks at him with a mixture of fondness and exasperation and true love. The giggles subside, only a few small chuckles as Carlos waits for his boyfriend to calm down. Sprawled on the floor, Cecil still manages to look dignified whilst speaking.

“I’m going to _save_ you from the zombies, Carlos. It’s your first apocalypse, and inexperience really does not up your game. You can save me next time, if you want,”

There’s a promise hidden in sentence, of years to come. Carlos really does not understand, but when Cecil tugs on his arm he follows, sinking into the carpet and leaning against his shoulder.

“I’m going to keep you safe, Carlos, because I love you. That’s how it’s always been done,”

Damn the shiver that crawls up his spine, the one that whispers _mine mine mine_ as he presses back against Cecil.

.

Apparently the apocalypse lasts only an hour, as City Council is running behind schedule. Something to do with tentacles and broken alarm clocks. Carlos remembers reading about it, just before the newspaper self-destructed.

Night Vale looks the same, dusty roads and arthritic cacti. Occasionally, a zombie ambles around, and children shriek (delightedly, they are _delighted_ ), waving kitchen knives and saws and making mincemeat out of man. Their parents trail behind, laughing and smiling, wiping blood from cheeks and fixing armor.

Couples do that too, almost intimate as they hold hands and rip tendons and bones. Carlos catches Cecil staring wistfully, and instead of dropping everything and running, he grasps his hand and swings it around.

“That will be us one day,” he says, doesn’t know why, but Cecil stops in the middle of the street and blushes, turns pink and purple and kisses him in front of everyone.

It’s horribly romantic, in the best possible way.

.

Dusk sweeps over the rooftops and telephone poles, turns the entire town into pumpkin and amber. Covered in blood, Carlos sees zombies lying motionless on the ground, and he feels a pang of sympathy.

“What’s going to happen to them?”

Cecil looks over, knees drawn up on the hood of the Coupe, vibrant and still.

“Well, they volunteered this year, so City Council will reimburse their limbs and cancel a year so they can recover. Then, I’m not sure. We might not need volunteers next year,”

“They aren’t dead?”

“Of course not. It’s a _planned_ apocalypse, dear Carlos. We can’t have _unplanned_ casualties!”

That makes the most sense, after all. Carlos smiles, lays his head on Cecil’s shoulder, and watches the Sun swallow the canyon.

.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy (belated, holy hell) Halloween! Also, if there is a specific prompt you would like filled, drop me a comment! I’ll gift it to ya!
> 
> Thanks for reading and I apologize for the inactivity. The creative juices kind of freeze when school does the thing, you know, and happens.


End file.
